The Image

The image in the mirror feels nothing
towards him, though it is his image. He
weeps, and it weeps with him, but is merely
the sign of his weeping, yet he knows
he cannot eat, drink or make love
without that image. He is in awe of it.

Though it does not need him,
he is its servant as he stands there,
doing what is necessary
to keep it in the mirror—humbled
and grateful for his presence,
that which reveals him to himself.
If there is a god, this is he.